


All That We Have Is Each Other

by Lilviscious



Series: Batfam Bingo 2019 - Lilviscious [14]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Blood and Gore, Brotherhood, F/M, Gen, Survival, Violence, onesided DamiSteph
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 06:56:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20962367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilviscious/pseuds/Lilviscious
Summary: Part 13 of the Batfam Bingo 2019!Fill: Second ChanceThe world as they know it, is gone. Perhaps it is coincidence, perhaps it shows only a certain type of person is able to withstand the horrors that covers the Earth’s population. Damian is not entirely suprised Jason made it back alive.





	All That We Have Is Each Other

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for graphic depictions of gore and character deaths. This is a zombie AU, after all. Rated this M.. but maybe it should be E?

The world as they know it, is gone. Perhaps it is coincidence, perhaps it shows only a certain type of person is able to withstand the horrors that covers the Earth’s population, stifling the lives of the innocents. Carrying this in the back of his mind, it truly shouldn’t have him perplexed to find **him** still alive. The gunshot startles him visibly. Little sleep and an ongoing onslaught does that after a while, Damian tells himself to regain composure. 

The rotting corpse at his feet oozes black thick blood, smudging his boots. Still, he doesn’t dare move from his defensive position, sword in mid-air and ready to strike in case the zombie at his feet decides to get back in action. There is no gnawing at his feet, no movement at all.

“A bullet to the head usually does the trick,” a familiar voice tells him.

Damian swallows against the flood of emotions, ones he forsake the moment his family was taken from him. There was no time for grievance, it would have gotten him killed as well. However, Damian can’t deny the tears blearing his vision as he finally raises his head and shifts his gaze from his attacker to his saviour. Immense gratitude he feels at the sight of his brother, the last of their odd family.

“Todd.. You’re alive,” he manages with a voice hoarse and wavering in strength.

“Yeah..” Jason confirms holstering his gun with a quick sweep of their surroundings. The Manor is eerily quiet, an unsettling sight to behold as he recalls the many capable crime fighters it housed. The floor is littered with bodies, unknown identities who forced their way inside and onto their turf.

“Ya been bit?” Hands yank at his clothes, pushing back bloodied pieces of armour to inspect easy targets for teeth to sink in. Damian shakes his head and allows Jason to manhandle him as he sees fit. Truth be told, it is the first human touch he experiences since the start of this terror. It is also the first touch not trying to kill him. Jason is thorough in his search, calloused dirt covered hands reaching his bared neck for proper inspection.

“Scratched?” Damian shuts his eyes and sighs. “Neither.” The hand stops in his hair at the back of his head when sudden panic takes him hostage. The hilt of his sword slides from his hand, the blade clattering to the marble floor beneath. He clutches Jason’s jacket, opening it wide. “What about you?” He made the mistake of trusting an injured human before and it nearly cost him his life.

“Aint none of those things touchin’ me,” Jason declares defiantly, but allows Damian’s inspection, understands the need for confirmation. “The others?” He dares ask despite noticing the quacking of the younger man’s shoulders, the white knuckles refusing to let go.

Those eyes lower to the ground. It isn’t an easy feat to deliver him the news. “Gone.”

Jason’s chest heaves suddenly, the information different from expectation. Damian sees the clear disbelief in his teal eyes as they stare him down, enlarged and holding a tint of the panic Damian has been experiencing. His breathing becomes irregular, adam’s apple struggling in his throat as he attempts to find words to use. A distressed Jason is a terrifying sight to behold. Shit has truly hit the fan whenever he shows such emotions.

“Nah, can’t be… All of them? What of B?”

“_Gone_,” Damian repeats himself albeit with less restraint of the tidal wave of feelings residing inside him. “Father, Richard, Timothy, Alfred.. Cassandra and.. _Stephanie_.” If Jason notices him calling Tim by his full name and hears him choking on the blonde’s name, he doesn’t comment on it. He does pull the younger man into his chest, holding him there by the back of his head. 

“Fuck,” Jason curses, running a hand through his own hair. He pulls at it, the sting unlike the anguish in his chest. “FUCK!!” His volume rises and Damian clutches at his armour, holding on for dear life as images of their death run before his eyes.

“Where are they?”  
“The cave.”  
“Show me.”

“I.. can’t. Not again,” Damian reveals and the gathered tears in his eyes finally descend. They caress the curve of his cheeks, holding on to his chin shortly.

Jason clenches his jaws, licks at chapped lips and pulls Damian’s face into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry, kid,” he tells the barely nineteen year old trembling against him. His throat tightens with emotion. Minutes pass without another word shared between them as Damian releases silent tears and Jason finds a spot on the wall to settle his gaze on, eyes unfocused and flooded with memories of their fucked up little family.

“There’re supplies we need,” Jason tells him with a voice steady and stern, “I’mma go down there, see what we can use. Stay here, on the lookout.”

“No, I’m coming with you,” Damian objects and reaches down to collect his sword. Truth is, Damian doesn’t want to be left alone just yet, or perhaps never again.

The descend into the underground lair is slow as Damian prolongs their journey to gather confidence, collects the strength needed to lay eyes on them once more, and to possibly explain what brought their family to ruin. Jason’s presence at his six o’clock is a comfort, a tower of strength he is not afraid to admit he needs at this moment. At the bottom of the stairs, they pause. Damian motions with his head to their left.

“She fell prey to Cassandra.. Most likely tried to reason with her. That was before we realized there was no longer a sense of them left to reason with,” Damian recalls as he motions to the body seated against the wall, blonde hair tainted with blood. In her lap lies the quiet remains of their sister.

Jason takes another step and crouches at the duo. Bile burns the back of his throat at the sight of the open wounds on Stephanie’s arms, the blood that covers the lower half of her and Cassandra’s face like the mask his Red Hood persona adorns these days. Deep wounds from their temple indicate a dagger, batarang, or a sword put them out of their misery. Jason looks at Damian over his shoulder, at the tight grip he holds on his sword. He doesn’t ask.

“Drake.. he was the one to find Alfred. He was the first to.. change. He was coughing up blood, unresponsive, already gone by the time Drake was calling in a state of emergency,” The younger man continues with careful steps to the computer area. Jason nods in recollection of the family wide message Red Robin emitted. ‘Penny-one, down’, it said. He was nowhere near Gotham at that time. 

Damian sits at the computer accessing camera logs. The soft hum of the generator providing them electricity is a pleasant source of distraction as they wait. Jason grips the back of the chair, eyes narrowing at the screen of an angled view of Tim, still half in uniform, rushing out of the bunking area. Security codes provided to the lockpad ensure his safety as the door closes and locks, Tim sliding down the wall with his head in his hands. There’s blood on them. He remains that way for six minutes, muttering to himself, before standing and starting to pace back and forth in front of the locked door to their bunks. No need to inquire the location of Alfred’s body.

“Was he scratched, bitten?” Jason asks instead, unable to fathom the death of careful Timothy Drake-Wayne. 

Damian nods his head and pulls up files with notes, hypothesis scrambled and thoughts unfinished: clearly Tim’s work. “He started coughing while analyzing Alfred’s blood. His body carried small scratches where Alfred had struggled, his change was inevitable, he said,” Damian falls silent. “It’s bloodborne.. Drake locked us out of the cave entirely. Cassandra and Stephanie were with him at the time. Cassandra--” He stops with fresh tears in his eyes. Three clicks in the computer directory opens a broadcasted audio file, one Jason missed due to losing function of his communicator two days into the shitstorm ravaging the planet.

“This is Timothy Drake-Wayne, A.K.A. Red Robin. This is a message to any and all affiliated with Batman Inc. and the Justice League. The virus appears to be bloodborne. An inflicted wound from those things is a death sentence, be it a bite, a scratch, anything that draws blood. Batman, Robin, Nightwing and Batgirl are on active duty, they show no signs of distress. However, we’ve lost Penny-one while Orphan, Spoiler and I are.. contaminated, infected. Red Hood, Signal, Batwing and Batwoman are unaccounted for. I am uploading my findings to the Watchtower as we speak, for the Batcave is as of now compromised. I have the cave and the manor on lockdown. Chances of our survival.. are at a unfortunate 0,5 %. I… I don’t have enough time to find a way to stop it. I don’t know. I don’t know how to. Just.. let my notes be of worth, somehow……… I……Just…... Red Robin, out.”

Jason pushes away from the chair. His eyes roam the cave with all its little nooks and shadows. Tim is gone, but at least was able to provide their community with information vital to their survival. Sure, Jason came to the same conclusion on his own, but doesn’t have the scientific evidence to back it up, to be actually certain of the cause. TIm did, as always.

His pulse is quick and loud in his ears. The prospect of finding a cure or a solution without his replacement’s big brain at their disposal is a breathtaking notion. Jason regards the females at the bottom of the stairs and only then notices the streak of blood on the concrete floor. An indication that their bodies were moved. The other end of the bloodied path disappears into shadows, but there’s a leg visible if he squints his eyes. Jason sees a foot wearing a sneaker that triggers him into motion. 

Damian catches the sleeve of his jacket before he is able to near the scene surrounded by blood. “Don’t. Cassandra and Stephanie.. were feeding on him by the time I made it in.” There isn’t much of Tim left, is what’s unsaid between them.

“Fuckin’ hell..” Jason breathes out cupping the lower half of his face. A sudden sound from the bunk area startles both of them. Jason turns his head to Damian’s lowered face. “He’s still in there?!” he asks incredulous.

Damian grits his teeth, cheeks flared with shame. “I barely made it out alive when I returned, there was little sense in seeking out danger!”

“Yet ya stayed in the Manor, barricaded the entire ground floor pretty good. I had a tough time gettin’ in were it not for the walkers who had clawed in first,” Jason states and realizes too late the ridiculous blame he puts on his youngest brother for not wanting to open that door and face the alternate version of what was a substitute grandfather to them.

Defiant and humiliated, Damian rises from the chair with sword in hand. He passes Jason’s apologetic form and makes way to the source of the sound.

“Ya don’t have to--_shit_!” Jason calls after him on hurried feet, pulling him behind his broader frame. The lock on the door clicks, Damian’s access code already inserted. 

They wait with held breath, until Damian points out the obvious: “He can’t open it from that side.”

Jason emits a relieved sigh. “Good, lock him back up.”

“No! I.. I can’t leave him like that,” Damian objects. “If we wish to reclaim the cave, we have to eliminate every threat.”

Jason’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, because the kid’s right. “Alright. We aint takin’ any chances though,” the man decides and takes his gun, offering it to Damian who stares motionless. Jason scoffs. “I know ya fired one before, just take it.”

No point in arguing. Damian takes the long ranged weapon and lifts it to a height he predicts will be sufficient to shoot and end this with one bullet. With his hand on the door handle, Jason motions for his younger brother to wait and presses an ear to the door. Light shuffling of feet, the sound fading, indicating whatever’s left of Alfred is retreating. By the time Jason swings the door open, Damian has gripped the gun with both hands and has broadened his stance, feet parted wide.

The lights are off in the bunk area. There’s no sign of Alfred, Jason lingering against the wall peeking in cautiously without getting in Damian’s line of fire. He wets his lips, whistles sharply and calls for Damian’s attention when a pale, red eyed version of their butler emerges from the shadows. Damian shoots without hesitance and watches the corpse fall to the floor, blood trickling out of the bullet hole in his forehead.

“Straight outta horror movie,” Jason comments reaching for the gun Damian’s clutching mid-air. He tugs, frowns and sighs. “Let go, kid, it’s done.” Damian swallows with difficulty and nods, releases the man’s weapon.

With no more hostiles in their underground lair, it is time to take stock of their allies and resources.

“What of B? Dick? Barbie?” Jason mentions once more, venturing through the cave in search for anything that can carry inventory.

“They were assisting the GCPD. Batgirl insisted she stay for her father’s safety. Dick wouldn’t leave her side and father.. eventually ran out of time to make any other decision than staying. He send me to check on headquarters,” Damian explains as he recalls the last moment of contact he had with them.

They scavenge for weapons, ammunition, food, medicine and other supplies. Everything has become quite more valuable now that the world stopped working, Jason tells him. It’s meant to be a joke, but Damian’s not laughing and Jason can’t blame him. Instead, the younger man tells him Bruce sent him ahead before Tim’s message reached them. He arrived just in time when Tim started broadcasting, witnessed the Manor going on lockdown, attempted to enter the cave but its security and thick walls were impregnable. Jason is discarding rubber bullets out of clips, replacing them with actual lethal ones when his brother falls silent. Haunted, is what he looks like, Jason decides and remembers that feeling all too well, from when he first woken from the dead. A cynical piece of himself tells him he’s no better than the morphed corpses of their family on the floor. A walking dead guy who doesn’t bite, is all. 

“Timothy..” Damian continues softly, capturing Jason’s attention at the inclination of the name. They were on better terms, like Jason and Tim were, like no longer wanting him dead. Didn’t mean they were friends, didn’t mean they wouldn’t admit he was a good asset to the cause, one who could have made a big difference right now if still alive.

“What of him?” Jason asks, trying for a flippant approach instead. Life is shit, death happens, he’d tell Damian, but the younger one’s no stranger to death and demise. As a former child soldier of the League of Shadows, of course. To see him this rattled, reminds Jason he’s just a kid after all.

He argued with Tim through wall speakers. Heard him coughing, trying to contain Cassandra and yell in agony when Stephanie fell prey to her. Damian eventually destroyed the speaker to stop Tim’s cries of pain when they both descended on him. He forwarded this piece of info to Batman and Nightwing, requested further instructions but never received them as they were most likely in a scuffle at the time. He lost contact with both older men from that point forward, breached the Manor after many failed attempts and waited for his father and brother ever since. “But they never came..” Damian concludes lowering his hand to the table where he was bagging batarangs, smoke pellets and the sort.

“Then they aint dead,” Jason states pulling a duffle bag onto the table to stash with bottles of water and towels he found at the training area of the cave.

“You don’t know that,” Damian accuses with balled fists. When barricading the Manor he saw the streets littered with zombies, with unfriendlies roaming everything alive and moving. There was no reason not to think, without receiving another word from his father, they were dead.

“As long as I don’t see him dead on the floor, he’s still alive and kickin’. Not havin’ heard from him doesn’t mean shit. Ya didn’t hear from me either, did ya?” Jason thumbs at his own chest, cocking an eyebrow.

Damian rubs at his face, feeling conflicted at this new spark of hope. The world grows darker quite suddenly. Damian realizes a second too late his world is toppling, hand reaching for the table and missing. Jason’s iron grip on his upper arm keeps him mid-air, tugs him back into his chair with a look of concern.

“Ya okay, kid?” Those teal eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Haven’t eaten in a while,” Damian confesses truthfully, holding his aching stomach. His brother provides him with a nutrition bar from his jacket, his least favourite flavour, but he takes it and munches greedily.

“Ya could also use a shower, ya know,” Jason tells him with a wrinkle of his nose. Damian snarls at the implication but denying the evident goo of zombie blood splattered among his body is beyond him. “Generator powering the water tanks below too?” Jason inquires with a motion of his head to the rooms behind them.

Damian’s posture stiffens. It’s not the prospect of ridding himself of the horrid stench clinging to his person, but the lifeless body in the doorway to the bunk area that is the leading room to the showers. “Water might be polluted,” he tries and watches as Jason takes a bite from the bar in his hand while passing him by. Damian quickly finishes the rest himself, following on hesitant feet. 

What is left of their faithful butler lies facing down on the floor, motionless. Jason prods his arm with the tip of his boot. Nothing, alright. “Can’t leave ‘em to rot,” he mutters to himself. “We’ll bag and tag for now, it’s not the time for funerals yet,” Jason tells his younger brother who nods in acknowledgement. It takes a moment to disconnect from his emotions to get the job done. Damian can tell Jason’s tuned out similarly as the last of Alfred’s body disappears in the black bag procured from the kitchen upstairs. The worst has yet to come however. Three more bodies remain and Damian starts regretting having eaten at all. A hand to his chest stops him. Jason’s not quite looking at him, eyes strained on the red line disappearing into darkness. 

“Take that shower,” he tells the younger one, “and take yer time,” he adds with a step in Tim’s direction. Damian lingers, watches Jason crouch near that sneaker and place a hand on it. Seconds pass without further motion, until he sees those teal eyes stare back at him over his shoulder almost angrily. “Go, damn it!” He is yelled at. He listens with grit teeth.

There’s droplets of blood in the bunking area, on the sheets where Damian imagines Alfred was resting, coughing up the red liquid before turning. He takes the sheets, disposes of them in the laundry basket which he realizes won’t ever be emptied again. Not by Alfred at least. Damian kicks the wooden object as a flood of frustration takes hold of him. Part of him wishes to return and aid Jason, another knows his brother needs time to process as well. Truth be told, Damian can do without another look at Stephanie, too. He might not ever have thought to stand a real chance with her, but to have the small possibility taken away from him so abruptly is unjust.

The showering room is pristine in hygiene, the door having provided an adequate barrier against Alfred’s roaming. The filthy clothes are disregarded in a corner, the spray of hot water cascading down his body a refreshing sensation. He turns up the temperature, wants his skin to nearly burn as he scrubs at spots of black dried blood on his arms where clothing had not protected him. Shampoo stands in the corner and Damian recognizes it as a brand favoured by Dick. He decides against using it. Once he is properly cleaned, the young man lowers himself to the ground and sits with his back to the cold wall. A sense of time is impossible to dictate in this room, and so he takes to meditation in an attempt to find a bit of peace of mind instead of remembering what horrors Jason is feasting his eyes on. Falling water reminds him of rain. It is soothing. A consistent rhythm. The beating of his heart slows and grows steady. For a moment he forces himself to believe the world outside this room is as he wants it to be, filled with silent smiles from Cassandra and Alfred, and snarky comments from Tim and Stephanie. He recalls the touch of her blonde hair to his lips as he knelt beside her limp body, sword retreating from her skull. It was the first kiss he had given her.

His eyes snap open at the sound of another presence entering the tiled space. It’s his brother. Jason looks evidently paler and sullen than before, already disrobed and going for the shower nozzle to his right. Damian watches red wash down the drain and stands abruptly. He blinks back the tears in his eyes that formed at the thought of his fallen family. Through the water falling in his face, he watches the other man. Jason turns to him, slicking his wet hair back without as much as a sound. There are no words to describe the thing he had partaken in, not truly. Eyes travel over each other’s bodies, a silent confirmation that they haven’t been injured, indeed. Despite there being little chance Jason is unaware of the red tinge to his eyes, the older man doesn’t mention it. He does, however, mention her at last.

“Sorry ‘bout blondie,” he all but mutters into the water cascading from above.

Damian’s chest stings. Still, he is grateful for his somewhat tactful approach. “We were not engaged with one another,” he manages to explain in a quiet voice. His shoulders roll forward, his mind and body exhausted.

There’s a shrug, a scrubbing of Jason’s face. “Doesn’t matter. She mattered, didn’t she?”

“She did,” Damian confirms, turning and placing his forehead against the tiles as he realizes with a conflicted look that his confession of his love for her is futile at this point. He should have approached her when he had the chance. Before any of this occured. What he wouldn’t give for a second chance. Placing both hands on the cold, slick wall, Damian focusses his energy. He had been given a second chance at life. Jason had been given one as well. Why couldn’t the same be done for her? The fleeting thought is interrupted by his brother.

“I secured them for now. We fix this mess and come back for them later,” Jason reminds him as he shuts off the shower and saunters over to towel off.

“You.. truly believe father and Richard to be alive, still?” Damian questions carefully, voice small as he walks over to do the same. 

The men enter the bunking area where Damian can see Jason has secured their safety by blocking the door with one of the bunk beds. Chances are small any unwanted visitors will find them, but he isn’t going to take any risks. Down by the bunk Jason sits down are several of the duffle bags they filled with resources.

“Yeah. Not a fat chance in hell B is gonna die and let _me_ watch over ya from here on out,” Jason responds without a grin or laughter in his eyes. He is suspiciously quiet about Dick’s chances of survival.

They think back to the bodies in the cave. Morbid humour was always Jason’s speciality ever since coming back to life. It’s as distasteful as ever. As a nineteen year old Damian objects to the mere thought of needing another person to care for him. Even in this zombie covered world he is confident survival by himself can be achieved. Should he been given the proposition to not do this by his lonesome, however? Jason might not have been the one at the top his list of companions, but he is of a similar mindset and not entirely uncomfortable with death.

“I’ve attempted communication with the Watchtower, but to no avail,” Damian reminds him stubbornly. They sit on the thin bedding the bunks provide, gearing back up fully. If some corpse is to break through, they’ll be ready.

“Doesn’t mean a thin’,” Jason shrugs. He leans back into the comfort of the bed, throws an arm above his head and stretches. “Tomorrow we’ll find one of them boomtubes, see for ourselves what’s up.”

Damian’s eyes narrow in concern. “And if it malfunctions?”

“We improvise,” Jason mutters with closed eyes, voice considerably softer as if to convince Damian to keep quiet and find a moment’s rest.

Instead the younger one bristles, unimpressed by the laid back attitude his brother excudes. “Improvise? This isn’t one of your Outlaw adventures, Todd. This is an _apocalypse_!” He stands from the bed with balled fists, teeth bared around the word that shakes his very being. The world is dying, their companions are dying, this is no time to ‘wing it’ as Jason is notorious for.

“Ya been in one before, brat?” That low voice asks from the shadows of the lower bunk bed. “‘Cause to my knowledge there aint no manual for this, and that means we’re _winging_ it.” Damian’s fists clench at the verb. “Now shut up, I haven’t slept properly in days,” Jason grumbles, kicking out a long leg to push against Damian’s thigh. 

He stumbles back, gravity pulling him down to the bed. Without another word he turns his brooding to the bunk above him. Sleep tugs at his eyelids, makes them grow heavy. It has been an anxious few days with little rest and while he boarded himself into his family home, there was no true certainty a zombie couldn’t get to him. With no one to watch his back, sleep possibly meant death. Damian forced his tired eyes to open wider, arched his head back to perceive the barricaded door. It eased his muscles slightly, body becoming pliant on the mattress. With a languish shift of his eyes he settles them on the man on the other side of the room. Jason’s chest should be lifting and dropping with even breaths, yet there is remarkably little motion at all. A reminder of the fallen members of his family comes to mind, and a wave of panic hits him unexpectedly.

“Todd,” Damian calls for him in a whisper in the silent room. There is no answer.

The rational part of him tries to persuade him: there were no bite marks, no blood drawn, you saw his bare body in the showers moments before, calm down, he is simply asleep. Yet the stillness of the man makes his skin crawl. In comparison his own breathing has accelerated, a sheer layer of sweat spreading on his forehead. His mouth runs dry within seconds, his panting stuttering like the thundering of his heart. Tim’s scream of agony filtered through that piece of electronics echoes within him, sets his body into motion. He can’t lose another one.

“The hell-- kid!?” Jason’s voice booms into his ears as he grips his shoulders and rattles him. Startled teal eyes meet his frightened icy blue ones. Damian hovers above him, trying to even his breathing with little success. Jason acknowledges the sight before him for what it is: a panic attack. His larger hands take hold of Damian’s wrists as he lifts his upper body from the bedding, forcing Damian to back off. The iron grip on his jacket is unrelenting, of course. Jason manages to sit up, swinging his legs off the bunk as the younger one lowers onto his heels before him. Looking down into that younger face, Jason emits a sigh. “I aint dead, but I need sleep, Damian,” he tells him favoring his actual name to calm him down.

“I.. I know,” Damian says to convince the both of them. He can’t shake the thought of waking up to a zombified version of Jason. His next trembling exhale is a mixture of a grunt and a whine. 

With hunched shoulders he tugs at that jacket, focusesses on the warmth of Jason’s touch in comparison to the icy hold those corpses had on him prior this day. One hand slips from his wrist and finds the top of his head instead. It lies there, unmoving, in an awkward gesture of comfort unfamiliar between them. Damian dares to lift his head slowly, feels that weight move to the back and apply pressure. His face turns sideways automatically to avert direct contact with the man’s broad chest. It’s not quite an embrace. Two people clutching at each other using varying body parts can not be claimed as such, Damian thinks. There are heavy layers of armour and clothing separating them. Still, Damian humours the immature part within himself that he can hear a faint beating of Jason’s heart if he closes his eyes and concentrates. His own manages to settle down, exhaustion returning instantly.

“Sleep,” Jason tells him gently, letting go of his wrist and giving a small nudge to his head when Damian releases him in return. The motion is dismissive but there’s no scowl on his brother’s face as he returns to his own bed. Jason stays seated, lowering his elbows to his knees, observes him.

Damian swallows against the tightening of his throat as a lingering effect of his emotional state. “Tomorrow,” he starts again but Jason cuts him short.

“Tomorrow is a new day, a new chance,” his brother tells him resolutely. The man’s gaze holds a strong confidence that soothes him into slumber, believing that maybe with the help of his renegade brother he might just be able to save what little of his everyday life is left.

**Author's Note:**

> Taking an entirely different road with this story. I normally don't kill anyone in my stories, and I find it difficult to write about to be honest. Ugh, I made myself sad people!!
> 
> I wanted to focus on Jason and Damian as brothers, together, in distress. Somehow zombies became part of that, but I'm not complaining. This was a slow paced story, also something I'm not familiar with. Still, I see its charm, especially when characters are thrown into turmoil and experience the eye of the storm, a moment in between to process what happened and what might come next. And yes! Damian and Stephanie. I know it's not entirely popular, but have you read the comics featuring this duo? It is hilarious. Their snark is great entertainment. I can imagine Damian growing fonder of her as he matures, and upping his game of calling her names to disguise his growing interest. It adds extra drama to this story as well, so there you go.
> 
> I considered making a sequel to this, hmmmmm! Bruce, Dick and Barbara might still be alive, right? What about the other family members? Whaaaat about the heroes at the Watchtower? Will that boomtube even work, Jason? You're not usually the one conducting plans, ya know. *stares at Tim's corpse* I AM SO SORRY FOR KILLING YOU! YOU ARE STILL MY FAV ROBIN OKAY?! Not sure what I'm going to do with it, so this will be a one-shot until further notice ;) Feel free to inspire me to write one though, hahah I am easily persuaded.


End file.
